High Table headquarters, New York. 1:20 PM
The phone in Sirius's hand felt like a cold stone. Spencer's call had ended abruptly, leaving an icy void in the lavish meeting room, a place where power was measured in whispers and glances, not direct threats. Sirius, a man of immense composure, felt a tic in his jaw. There was a contained fury in his eyes that was rarely seen. He placed the phone on the mahogany table, the sound of its contact with the wood breaking the silence like a gunshot.
Facing him, four other members of the High Table watched. They were the organization's highest and most enigmatic figures, their faces impassive. There was a man with silver hair and a cunning gaze, his name was Viktor. An ageless-looking woman, named Leilani. Another man in his 30s but with the gaze of a sage, named Kaelen. And a robust man with a thick voice, named Darian. They had been listening to the call in silence; their silence was the harshest judgment that could be given.
"'A man against the world'?" Darian spoke, and although it was a question, the mockery in his tone was palpable. "It seems that man is about to unleash a war, Sirius."
"One man can't do that," Sirius replied firmly, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "It's Spencer's arrogance. He thinks he can use John Wick as a pretext. John is a ghost."
"Then ghosts leave blood trails," Leilani interrupted, her voice a glacial whisper. She pulled an iPad from her portfolio, and with a quick gesture, projected an image onto the main screen.
It was a news headline, with a photo that was being repeated on every news channel in the United States. A headline that read: "The Raccoon City Shooter: A Cold-Blooded Killer or a Victim of Conspiracy?"
But it was the image that stole all the attention. A fragment of a video, grainy and blurry, captured by the school cafeteria's camera. John Wick was visible, in his suit, aiming his pistol. And in front of him, a girl in her school uniform. The image was frozen just at the moment the girl was seen falling.
The video was cut there. It showed nothing more than that scene. It only showed John Wick, the alleged murderer of the girl. The headline was a rhetorical question, but the photo was a sentence. People, by nature, need nothing more than a fragment to judge. And the judgment had already been made.
The room fell silent. All the members of the High Table understood the message. "A video for collective hatred," Viktor said. "A video that will corner him, a video so he can't hide. Spencer is burning all the bridges that are left."
Sirius nodded, his face grim. "He's using people's ignorance and rage as a weapon. He's turning him into a pariah, even in a world that knows nothing of our rules. It's a bold move. And a dirty one. Spencer is underestimating the loyalty of our members."
"Loyalty?" Darian laughed. "Spencer isn't underestimating our loyalty. He's exposing our vulnerability. He's using one of our own to drag us into the public light."
Sirius looked at him with fury. At that moment, the doors of the room opened and a familiar figure entered. It was the Adjudicator, the same woman who had overseen the "elimination" of John Wick in New York. She wore her white suit and her face was expressionless, but there was a slight tension in her shoulders. She knelt, her head bowed.
Sirius looked at her with fury. "John Wick was supposed to die, Adjudicator. Where is his body?"
The Adjudicator looked up, her voice was firm but had a touch of nervousness. "Sir Winston Scott, the manager of the New York Continental, told me he had shot John Wick and that he had fallen from the roof of the Continental's terrace. I was there too. I saw him fall, my lord. It was a four-story hotel."
Sirius stood up. His voice became more grave. "Are you stupid? Did you really think an 'assassin's' services end when he falls? Didn't you check the body?"
The Adjudicator blushed. "No, my lord. He was a man with the reputation of being the most dangerous in the organization. His fall, added to the shots he received, made us think it was impossible for him to survive. Winston... Winston Scott's services... were in a state of total chaos. There was no time..."
"There are no excuses for failure, Adjudicator!" exclaimed Sirius. "Your negligence has brought disaster upon our organization. Your mission was to ensure that he was dead. It's a sacred duty. And you failed. You have condemned yourself and all of us."
Kaelen intervened: "The Adjudicator did everything in her power, you can't blame her..."
"I blame her for everything!" Sirius growled, interrupting Kaelen. "It's not what it seems! She was given a task, and she failed. Get out, Adjudicator!" The Adjudicator, with a glint of anger in her eyes, stood up and left. "Your services are suspended until further notice," Sirius yelled, but the woman had already gone.
The meeting room fell silent. Sirius sat down again, his body trembling with rage. "We have to act fast," he said. "Spencer is upping the ante."
The members of the High Table began to discuss their options. Some advocated for putting all the Continental hotels on high alert, others for sending armed member reinforcements to the branches. The tension in the room was palpable, and panic was beginning to invade the minds of the members.
"This isn't just a reputation problem," said Leilani, her voice a glacial whisper. "If it's confirmed that John is alive, and worse, in Spencer's hands, every Continental becomes a target. We'll lose trust. We'll lose business. I suggest we declare John 'Excommunicado' again, immediately. Let the bounty on him be global. Let it be a clear message to Umbrella: 'John is your problem now'."
"Leilani, that's what they want," Kaelen intervened, with a worried expression. "For us to come into the light. If we send our most valuable assets on a public hunt, we'll be dancing to their tune. Discretion is our pillar. We must contact our 'ghosts,' those who operate outside the hotel network. We can't risk the integrity of the Continentals."
"Kaelen is right," Viktor nodded. "A global hunt would only confirm Spencer's story. It would make us look like a cult, a sect of assassins. The question isn't how we kill John, but how we do it in a way that doesn't drag us down with him."
"This is all a waste of time!" Darian interrupted, slamming his fist on the table. "John must be eliminated! We must send our best men to make it clear to that Spencer guy that he doesn't mess with us! John is a defective weapon. He must be destroyed."
Sirius raised his hand, stopping the discussion. "Enough! Calm down. Panic is Spencer's weapon, not ours. Kaelen is right, we can't risk the Continentals. Darian is right on one point: we must respond. But not in the way they expect. Not with a public massacre."
He stood up, his eyes fixed on nothing. "We need someone who can do all three things: infiltrate, get information, and, if possible, kill John Wick. It's not a mission for a soldier."
Viktor nodded. "We can send Caine. He's a killing machine, a perfect assassin."
Sirius shook his head. "Caine is too visible. He's a hunter. What we need is a ghost. Someone who can get in and out of Raccoon City without a trace. Someone who isn't affiliated with our organization. Someone who has no ties to the world of assassins. Someone who is willing to risk their life for a reward. An infiltration expert. We need Ada Wong."
"Ada Wong?" Kaelen frowned. "She's a professional, yes, but her loyalty is to herself. She changes sides as often as the wind. Can we really trust her? She could sell our information to the highest bidder, or worse, to Spencer."
Viktor added, in a more pragmatic tone. "Her price is high, Sirius. She's not the same as any other 'ghost.' If she enters Raccoon City and betrays us, the damage could be catastrophic."
Sirius remained firm, his voice a grave whisper. "And therein lies her greatest strength. She has no loyalty to anything but her own interests. She doesn't care about our code, she doesn't care about our rules. She won't be tempted to join Spencer for an ideal, only for money. And we have the money.
Her mission will be simple: infiltrate Raccoon City, get information about the T-virus and Umbrella's plans, and if possible, eliminate John Wick. It's not a mission for a soldier, it's a mission for a ghost. And she is the best of her kind. The High Table is entering a dangerous game. But this time, we're going to play by our own rules."
The other members nodded. She was the perfect candidate. Ada Wong was a well-known assassin, and furthermore, she was known for being an expert in obtaining information and infiltration.
Sirius nodded, and stood up again. He approached his table and dialed a number, this time, to a Continental manager in China. The phone rang and rang, until, finally, someone answered. "Continental manager in China, what's wrong?" The man's voice was a whisper, but Sirius recognized him immediately.
"I need you to listen carefully," Sirius said. "I have a mission for you. And for your best assassin. A mission that could change the fate of our entire organization."
The man on the other end of the call seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. "I'm listening, sir."
An hour later. September 27. Shanghai, China.
The luxurious apartment in one of Shanghai's tallest skyscrapers was an oasis of calm, a perfect antithesis to the chaos brewing in Ada Wong's world. Dressed in a simple cotton t-shirt and denim shorts that highlighted her long and well-formed legs, she looked radiant. Her hair, short, loose, and shiny, framed the delicate features of her face, accentuating the natural beauty she radiated effortlessly.
Ada was lounging on a leather sofa, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. Her attention was divided between a random television show and her own thoughts. On the screen, a handsome man in a tailored suit stood in front of a woman dressed in a princess gown.
"What superpower would you choose: flying or reading minds?" The man asked, a radiant smile on his face. "Think about it, flying includes cold."
The woman laughed, her voice like a bell. "Reading minds, of course. That way I could know if you really love me."
The man leaned in, a touch of drama in his gaze. "You don't need to read my mind, my love," he told her, his voice a whisper. "What I feel for you is written in my heart."
Ada scoffed, her eyes rolling. 'Trivial,' she thought. 'The dialogues are as empty as the lives they try to represent.' She imagined herself in that situation, her answer would have been much more practical. 'Reading minds,' she would think. 'That way I would know if a target is lying. If they've set a trap for me or if I can trust a word they say. There's no room for uncertainty in my world.'
The plot advanced, the man and the woman kissed, and the screen filled with fireworks. Ada shook her head, a small smile on her face. 'Love is an illusion,' she thought. 'A weakness. It makes you vulnerable, it makes you predictable.' She reflected on the countless times she had seen her colleagues or enemies succumb to their emotions, making fatal mistakes out of loyalty or affection.
For her, it was a risk not worth taking. However, she felt a pang of curiosity about what it felt like to be so simple, so normal, so in love, like a tourist observing a distant land to which she could never belong. Would it be comforting? Overwhelming? She didn't know.
Suddenly, the vibration of her phone broke the bubble of calm. The screen lit up with the name of the Continental manager in China. Ada, slightly annoyed by the interruption to her rare moment of peace, swiped her finger to answer.
"Speak," Ada said, her voice with a tone that made her displeasure clear.
"Ada, I need you to listen carefully," the manager's voice came through the speaker, a little cautious, as if he were talking to a bomb about to explode.
"I'm listening," Ada replied with a tone of annoyance. "But if you're going to tell me I have to work overtime, you can save your breath."
The manager ignored the taunt. "I have a mission for you, Ada. From the High Table."
Ada stood up, her interest, though minimal, had increased. "I'm listening," she said as she headed for the kitchen. "But if I have to deal with the High Table, the reward had better be good." She stopped abruptly to grab two slices of bread and a slice of ham.
"We need you to infiltrate Raccoon City. Specifically, one of Umbrella's laboratories," the manager continued, his voice firm. "You must obtain a sample of the T-virus. And there's an additional bonus: if you manage to confirm John Wick's death, the reward will be considerable."
Ada's hands, which were making a sandwich, stopped abruptly. "John Wick?" she asked, her voice with a hint of genuine surprise. "I thought he had been killed. How is he alive?"
"He's as alive as you and I," the manager replied with a sigh. "According to the information we have, he's in Raccoon City. We don't know how he survived, but he did."
Ada was silent for a moment, a half-made sandwich in her hands. "Okay, and the reward? How considerable is it?"
"Ten million for the virus sample," the manager said. "And twenty million for John Wick."
Ada was silent, processing the information. 30 million. It was an exorbitant amount, even for someone like her. The manager, hearing nothing, called out cautiously. "Ada?"
"I accept," Ada replied with a speed that surprised even the manager.
"I'll send you all the information in a few minutes," the manager said, with a tone of relief. The call ended.
Ada left the sandwich, which no longer interested her, and walked back to the sofa, her thoughts swirling in her head. John Wick. The man who was supposed to be dead. The world's best assassin. Would it be possible to kill him? A shiver of excitement ran down her spine.
A fleeting thought made her smile. Her reflection in the window returned her gaze. Her eyes, though beautiful, hid a touch of danger. Her beauty was her most powerful weapon. She didn't need brute force to defeat John Wick. She could get close to him, gain his trust, and then, when he least expected it, claim the 20 million.
'He's the best, the ghost of the High Table, the legend everyone fears, but his legend is based on violence,' she thought. 'He faces his enemies head-on. I'm different. I won't face him. I'll make him believe I'm on his side. I'll make him believe we're the same. And when he lets his guard down, when he convinces himself he can trust me, then will be the time to act.' The idea of using her own strengths against him, of turning her beauty and charm into a weapon as lethal as his pistol, was ironically satisfying to her.
Just as she was deep in her thoughts, her phone vibrated again. It was a message. Expecting the manager's information, she opened it, but the sender was another: Albert Wesker.
"I have a mission for you. I need you to get a sample of the G-virus. Reward: 4 million."
Ada let out a laugh. Two missions in the same place, on the same day. Wesker's reward was a pittance compared to the High Table's, but both had the same objective. She would be content with killing two birds with one stone.
She put the phone aside and headed to her room, her movements, although delicate, were beautiful and graceful. She took off her casual clothes and took out her combat dress, a bright red dress that highlighted her figure and fit her curves perfectly. She placed her hidden weapons on her legs, small knives and a pair of pistols that were perfectly concealed under the fabric.
She looked at herself in the mirror, a small smile on her face as she put on a little makeup, accentuating her features.
The High Table's money, a total of 30 million, was a good incentive. But the additional bonus, the 20 million for John Wick, was what really excited her. A challenge. An opportunity. It wasn't every day she had the chance to face a myth.
Once she put on the dress, she felt her identity as Ada Wong, the assassin, had been restored.
She looked at herself in the reflection. And once again, the same idea came to her mind. She would use her beauty. It was her unique weapon, her secret weapon. John Wick was the best assassin, but Ada Wong, with her intellect, charm, and innate talent for seduction, was an opponent he would never expect. She would be the perfect candidate.
With one last look in the mirror, Ada made sure everything was in place, headed for the door, and prepared for the hunt.